


we hide our emotions under the surface

by aunaree



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Graphic Descriptions of Puking, Happy Ending, Liam Takes A While to Get It Together, M/M, Not Really Unrequited Love, Self-Love is Important, Theo is Sick, Theo is the Biggest Martyr on Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27382609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunaree/pseuds/aunaree
Summary: Theo knows what he doesn’t deserve—Liam. And Theo knows what Liam deserves—definitely not Theo, has to be better than Theo. Theo also doesn’t know how to comfort for shit, doesn’t know yet how to be human and vulnerable despite hanging around the McCall pack most of the time. To make things worse, it had to be the exact same time his brain pings a realization of all those times he’d feel the flip and turn of his insides around the boy.I think I fucking like this guy.But isn't that human and vulnerable?
Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken
Comments: 31
Kudos: 121





	1. Chapter 1

It may have been at the lacrosse field, when Liam comes running up the steps of the bleachers, reeking of sweat and damp soil. He stands in front of Theo, who was lazily sprawled against the seats with his legs spread out on the step below and his arms propped on the step above. From gazing at the sky, he tilts his chin back down after hearing Liam’s heartbeat and thudding footsteps.

“Sorry,” Liam says in a hurry, more offhandedly than sincere. “Game’s this Friday so Coach has been pushing us harder than usual.”

Theo says, “It’s fine,” because, really: Theo is everything but patient (it’s what had driven him to the edge of killing without the Doctors hovering over his back when it’d taken them _too_ long to hand him the promise of a pack), and yet for some gravity-defying reason, he didn’t mind waiting for an hour and a half watching (Liam) lacrosse balls get passed around in the air, and wait fifteen more for Liam to finish his shower before they head to their nightly patrol around the preserve.

At the continuous hunt for Monroe, Theo had surprised himself by staying in Beacon Hills. The topic of him and his past had never been brought up or vocally acknowledged, and for some reason he’d often find Scott’s or Liam’s name on his phone screen with an invitation text to Deaton’s clinic or the McCall house for a meeting. His plan had been to attend once, the first time, three weeks after the hospital, thinking it may have been supernatural-urgent level (or Beacon-Hills-supernatural-urgent, to be exact) for Theodore Raeken to be called. As it had turned out, it was the beginning of plotting out the chase after Monroe.

Theo has been proven to be helpful—the quick turning of gears in his head at the mention of possible hideout locations and ambush schemes—but it wasn’t the reason why They had decided to attend the second time, and the next, and every time. At first. He’d been tasked, alongside Liam, to patrol around the preserve, every night if possible, but sometimes Liam would have normal high school things like homework, so Theo would go alone after his shift at a local coffee shop. It was more plausible for Theo, anyway; he parks his truck around the vicinity of the preserve most of the time. Cops don’t drive there often.

It may have been at the Dunbar-Geyer household, right in Liam’s room, where Liam had had enough one day and called Theo for help in a math homework, until it has turned into a frequent scenario. Hanging around, helping (doing) Liam’s homework, sitting on the floor by the edge of Liam’s bed to play video games. _How normal,_ Theo would think, _how human._ Theo had noticed the vulnerability of it all. How he could so easily bury his claws at the bareness of Liam’s throat as he throws his head back with laughter from a funny story he’d been telling. Theo’s too skilled; Liam’s parents wouldn’t notice, he’d dump the body with a shovel (Scott would find anyway), and Theo would be miles away from Beacon Hills before Scott could so much as lift an eye from his sleep. But that would have been Theo _before_ , before everything, before hell and Liam.

When Malia would take a weekend off from college, as would Lydia or Stiles from his FBI training, pack meetings would turn into reunions. It was the kind Theo didn’t like attending, at first. Malia would snarl at his presence with no deep malice, and Stiles was a lot casual but he’d eye Theo whenever Theo would be in his line of vision, torso rigid and _expecting_ , maybe for Theo to jut his claws out or cut Scott’s head off. Who knows. It was Melissa that Theo had tried so hard to avoid. Walking out of the kitchen when Melissa would be there, who’d flinch at his presence a lot worse than Stiles and shoot a glare with obvious heat, so Theo will just turn around and forget his plans to get a glass of water.

Still, it was never brought up. No one had said a word, no one had pointed a finger. Theo had just walked in into the McCall household one day with no Malia to hiss at his side, with Stiles nodding at him once as a greeting, and with Melissa offering him more pie at the dinner table.

Something had switched, just like that, and Theo had started feeling like he was a piece of a brick slipping perfectly to complete a home. Started feeling like the stool on the McCall kitchen was left specifically for him, or the space on the couch beside Liam was purposefully vacated for Theo to inhabit.

It may have been many things, but the pivotal turn, really, is at the preserve, midnight, at the bed of Theo’s truck where he sits beside Liam with their feet dangling over the edge. Liam’s blue eyes glimmers with wetness underneath the moonlight. They don’t trickle down his cheek, just building up there on the rims of his lids as Liam stares at the night sky.

“I told them,” Liam says with a slight crack in his voice. _How human,_ Theo thinks, and watches the bobbing of Liam’s throat as the boy swallows a lump. “Mom and Dad. I can tell they’re gonna be needing more time to process it, but even so, Mom—she just hugged me and, I don’t know, I just felt so relieved and hurt at the same time. She’s always been so good, she and Dad, and I feel like—feel like all I did was put stress on them, you know? I don’t deserve them.”

It’s then, that Theo thinks: _shit._ And it isn’t the right time, he knows, but he can’t stop the twisting in his chest. He presses the heel of his palm against it, digging on the twist, knowing Liam won’t notice because the beta’s too busy staring at the sky. Still: _shit, shit, shit._

Theo knows what he doesn’t deserve—Liam. And Theo knows what Liam deserves—definitely not Theo, has to be better than Theo. Theo also doesn’t know how to comfort for shit, doesn’t know yet how to be human and vulnerable despite hanging around the McCall pack most of the time. To make things worse, it had to be the exact same time his brain pings a realization of all those times he’d feel the flip and turn of his insides around the boy.

 _I think I fucking like this guy._ But isn’t that human and vulnerable?

And God, was it an understatement. He chooses to go for the in denial road, thinking it’s just the McCall thing rubbing off on him, but what had really _forced_ him to acceptance was days after his pivotal moment when he stumbles out of his truck in the middle of the night because the tightness in his stomach and chest and throat had been _too much_.

He collapses on his hands and knees, heaving, a wave of nausea hitting him as he goes on convulsing empty retches. Something is stuck in his throat and somewhere in his chest, and he can’t breathe. He tears up from his series of coughs and he clutches his own throat as if that would help him get air, until he finally feels bile rising, and at the final convulse, he coughs _it_ out.

He spits out blood, but the object that had come out from his esophagus stays on his tongue, clinging on his saliva. With a shaking hand, he sticks his tongue out and feels it with his fingers, then lifts. A blue petal, stained with his blood, illuminated by the moonlight.

He stumbles back from his all-fours position into sitting on the ground, steadying himself with his free hand, the other still holding up the blue petal. The cold air nips on his sweaty skin, the muscles around his chest calms, but he doesn’t stop staring at the petal.

The next day, Theo skips his morning shift at work. Instead, thirty minutes before Deaton’s clinic opens up, he’s stumbling inside and heading straight towards the exam room. Deaton is by the shelves, seemingly in the middle of arranging his medical equipment as he picks up and places things, and doesn’t look when he asks, “What do you need, Mr. Raeken?”

Theo doesn’t have to ask. He knows Deaton must have anticipated him from the sound of his truck’s screeching wheels and the way he had violently opened the door. So, he decides to get straight to the point. He pulls out the crumpled petal from his pocket, the blood stain darkening around the edges, and places it on the metal table with a slam of his hand.

“I puked this out.”

At that, Deaton freezes, and turns with a puzzled look. He glances at Theo, then down towards the metal table where the blue petal lies. Theo watches Deaton’s brows slowly meeting as the man carefully eyes the petal and finally abandons the shelves to take a closer look.

“Can I?” Deaton flicks his gaze at Theo, hand raised in a gesture to hold the petal.

Theo shrugs. “It literally came out of my insides, but if you insist.”

Deaton flashes him a blank look before reaching over behind Theo. Theo twists to follow what Deaton’s doing, watches him pull out a glove from a compartment and wear it with a snap. Then back at the petal, Deaton lifts it with his glove-covered fingers and holds it up over the sunlight streaming through the window. After a few twists and turns, he looks back at Theo with a bewildered expression; Theo feels his chest deflate because it only means Deaton has no idea.

“It’s just an ordinary petal,” the man states.

“I know,” Theo deadpans. “And I assure you, as far as I know I haven’t been swallowing any flowers. ‘M not really the herbivore type … I don’t know how that thing went in my stomach in the first place.”

Deaton hums and lets his gaze land back on the petal. “And you just—suddenly felt like throwing up?”

“Yeah,” Theo replies and absently raises a hand to rub his chest with the bone of his palm. He stares at the petal. “Got nauseous, felt like my entire torso was on fire. And then _that_.”

“All right,” Deaton sighs and places the petal back on the table. He puts his hands on his hips and faces Theo. “I’ll see what I can find. This is also the first time I’m hearing about this.” He looks around thoughtfully. “I don’t have the appropriate materials for humans, so I suggest you go to Melissa for an x-ray. Supernatural as it may, technology might be able to detect something.”

“I can—” Theo blurts out and immediately stops himself, avoids Deaton’s alarmed gaze, and clears his throat. “I can shift into a wolf.” _If something’s wrong,_ Theo thinks, for some reason, _I don’t like Melissa knowing._ And Theo can tell Deaton reads it, because his cheek protrudes from his tongue, considering, and nods.

“Okay,” Deaton sighs and peeks at his wristwatch. “We’ve got twenty minutes before I open up the clinic.” Then, an accusing gaze at Theo: “Though I assume you already know that from ambushing my clinic early in the morning.”

Theo grins and slowly exits into the lobby so he can strip off and shift.

Thirty minutes later, Theo is back in his human form, zipping up his jeans and watching Deaton walk around, studying the result with a frown. The clinic has been opened up but no one has come in yet, so Theo had taken his time into shifting back, casually propped up on the lobby couch in his wolf form and listening to the muffled clinking of vial glasses as Deaton resumed arranging his shelves and the low hum of the x-ray machine whirring. But when Deaton had called, “It’s done,” Theo had immediately hopped down from the couch.

“This is odd,” Deaton is saying, which makes Theo hurry into pulling on his shirt as he strides towards Deaton. “They don’t look like tumors.”

Theo hovers over Deaton and clutches the film closer to himself. The black and white image exhibits three odd shapes over Theo’s left lung, and he can’t help but palm his sternum. Theo knows, from years of being with the Doctors, what a tumor looks like, and these really are _not._

Theo glances at the tiny blue petal on the metal table, turning crisp and dry from having fallen off its flower—the flower that’s inside Theo’s lungs, he realizes.

“It’s a flower,” Theo vocalizes and doesn’t believe himself for a moment.

“Very peculiar,” Deaton mumbles, a hint of both dread and astonishment in his eyes as he studies Theo’s lungs. Theo hates the way it reminds him of the Doctors, when his back had been cold and laid flat on their operating chair, three masks hovering over his sight, his chest cut open with his beating heart exposed. _Peculiar._

The door chimes open. Theo stumbles back a step, swallows the lump in his throat and forces the memory off his brain as Deaton looks at him with concern.

“Hello?” a woman calls from the lobby.

Deaton slips the x-ray film inside an envelope. “I’m going to have to contact people I know, and I’ll call you first thing I receive an information. For the meantime, just try and see what else comes up. Text me any other symptoms you might encounter.”

Theo’s going numb, so all he does is nod and mumble a weak, “Yeah, thanks,” before walking out of the clinic.

It takes a week before Deaton calls him about his findings, and in a span of seven days, Theo figures he could nearly build a bouquet with the amount of petals he’s been coughing out from his guts. For seven straight days, it only ever happens at night. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, sweating and aching all over, all the muscles around his chest and stomach convulsing and tightening. Sometimes it’s too much that he doesn’t make it to the outside of his truck, so instead he spills blood and petals all over the carpet of his truck. He makes sure to clean them right away after a few minutes of catching his breath, so the scent won’t linger and Liam won’t have to question anything the next time he’d be inside Theo’s truck for their patrol.

Of course though, Liam had noticed something, and Theo could tell it from the weird look Liam would always flash him every time he’d clear his throat to stop himself from coughing—in fear that a petal might come out—and sometimes letting himself cough with a closed mouth, feeling the petal scratching at the edge of his throat that will always send him nearly gagging, but swallowing it back down _hard_. It would be tolerable during those times, but at night, in his sleep, it’d disturb him and it’d wake him up, like everything’s been building up and he can no longer control his throat from releasing it all out.

“It’s a disease called _hanahaki_ ,” Deaton says, and Theo’s already hating the look of pity on the man’s face. “A truly rare case that to some it may rather be deemed as a myth. Flowers grow in your lungs enough that you start coughing them out because of, well, a one-sided affection.”

Theo narrows his eyes. “A one-sided affection?”

“Unrequited love,” Deaton confirms. Theo gapes, and Deaton continues, “There’s no clear explanation why it only happens to certain people, that until now surprisingly remains a mystery, but my guess is your vulnerability to this disease may have been caused by your time in … hell, or something to do with Miss Yukimura’s katana. But the reason why it’s happening to you is not what matters—the cure is.”

“Okay,” Theo says incredulously. “What’s the cure?”

“You die,” Deaton deadpans. Theo flashes him a similar blank look— _sounds easy_ —until Deaton quickly adds, “Or the person reciprocates the romantic feelings.”

Theo wants to laugh. Not only is he a dying man, but the whole situation is basically revealing that Liam Dunbar doesn’t love him back, and _wow_ , since when has it become so easy for him to blatantly acknowledge to himself that he is, in fact, in love with Liam fucking Dunbar?

In love. _So human and vulnerable._ He isn’t even sure if that’s what it really is; he just knows he gets all warm and fuzzy around the boy, knows that he _likes_ him, but love? Apparently, his body’s feeling things he didn’t know was there.

“Surgery will also do,” Deaton continues. “But it will also mean taking away what you feel for the other person.”

Theo goes silent, and he can’t believe he’s actually double-thinking about getting _cured_. He thinks about Liam, and how good it feels, despite Theo knowing what Liam deserves. _Definitely not Theo, has to be better than Theo._

“I suggest you tell Liam.”

Theo is surprised, but manages to flash Deaton an unimpressed look. “How are you so sure it’s Liam?”

Deaton smiles knowingly and nearly resembles a grimace, and Theo fights the urge to claw at his (almost) teasing face.

“Everybody knows it’s Liam.”

“No,” Theo says, successfully impeding his claws. “No one else knows.”

And Theo doesn’t mean about Liam, he means _this._

The look of sympathy on Deaton’s face deepens, and Theo hates it. Deaton understands, Theo knows, but the man still reminds him, “Let me know when you’re ready for surgery. Or if you’ve chosen to tell Liam. Unless, you’d rather die, which I am positive you don’t, knowing you and your … unshaken self-sustaining tendencies.”

Theo doesn’t respond and turns around to leave the clinic.

Later that night, Theo’s carefully chewing his burger he had bought from drive-thru before heading to Liam’s house, with Liam texting him: **_come oveeer. also craving for some in-n-out, i’ll pay u once u get here :D_** _._ When Theo arrives, Liam immediately chomps down on his own burger and begins to rant about his literature professor as he sets up his PS4. In the middle of it all, Liam tells Theo to remind him about paying up for the food before he leaves, because Liam’s “too lazy right now” to reach for his wallet in the closet. Theo’s not going to remind Liam.

Eventually, they settle by the foot of Liam’s bed, thighs touching, eyes straight ahead on the TV screen, burger wrappers and paper bags set aside in a messy pile. Theo feels the itch in his throat, the urge to cough, and he clears his throat.

“I hope we catch her,” Liam suddenly blurts out after minutes of silence with only the video game to fill for it. Theo looks over and sees the somber expression on Liam’s face, the boiling rage in his eyes but with no hints of spilling, just settling in a simmer. Liam looks at Theo and must have mistaken Theo’s stare as confusion because he says, “Monroe,” before turning back at the screen, his character spinning around aimlessly as Liam’s mind travels elsewhere.

Theo feels heat at the back of his neck, on his cheeks, and releases a breath of frustration. He drops his head against the edge of Liam’s bed and swallows down another itch, glowers at the ceiling; he feels another surge of tightness in his chest, something crawling, like more flowers are blooming and sprouting to tell Theo: _you love Liam Dunbar._

“Yeah,” Theo replies, at Liam, voice rasp, “I know. I hope so, too.”

But the itch returns, harsher than ever, and Theo’s already leaning over and coughing before he can stop himself. He feels the tip of a petal touching his tongue, and he immediately gathers up saliva to push it back down his throat. He gags when it gets stuck, hears Liam’s “Dude!” before a water bottle is being shoved on his face. Theo takes it and drinks it in several gulps, the petal being washed off and pushed down his stomach. He’s literally planting a garden in his intestines; not that there isn’t already one in his lungs.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Liam demands, and Theo ignores a familiar twist in his chest at the hint of concern in Liam’s voice. “I know we can like, heal, but you’re a chimera so I don’t know—you might not be immune to pneumonia or something?”

Theo chuckles, eyes teary as he licks water from his lips and turns to Liam. “I’m fine. Just some sort of—allergy, not immune to that.”

“Allergy?” Liam frowns. “To what?”

“I’m not sure yet, Deaton says it’s just allergy.” The lie rolls off his tongue so easily, yet Liam remains looking skeptical, so Theo picks up the controller and nudges Liam’s knee with his elbow. “Come on, another round. I’ll beat you this time.”

Theo feels the heat of Liam’s stare at the side of his face even when Theo’s pretending to be busy at the screen, but after a beat or two, he hears Liam scoff as the boy picks up his own controller. “Ha. As if.”

Theo grins, only to fade just as quick when Liam suddenly lies down and rests his head on Theo’s lap. Theo freezes and hopes Liam doesn’t notice, and Liam _looks_ like he doesn’t notice because he’s gazing up at the screen and nonchalantly mumbling something about being tired and sleepy and then all of a sudden talking about the best character in the game, thumbs fiddling with the controller. Liam has already chosen his, and he’s telling Theo who to choose, saying something about stamina and speed.

Before Liam could turn away from the screen and look up at Theo—Theo has anticipated that _might_ happen with his overly suspicious silence—he quickly presses the button and chooses the character Liam’s pointing at so the game can finally start, because if Liam looks at Theo from his position, Theo won’t be able to handle it. Won’t be able to handle if big blue eyes would peek at him from his _lap_ , and he can’t help but think, _what the hell, Dunbar,_ but he doesn’t mind.

He thinks of the color of the petal. Whatever this is—whatever abstract thing is used to describe whatever this is—it’s the only thing that makes Theo feel human and vulnerable, so _yeah, Deaton,_ he tells himself, slowly relaxing into Liam’s warmth, _I’d rather die._

*

When Alec had been brought home by Scott, Argent, and Derek—who had gone doing the searching for Monroe with the help of neighboring packs and as much information they can garner from Stiles’ FBI advantage and the Sheriff’s and Agent McCall’s connections—Theo immediately found a liking towards the boy; not in a way with Liam’s, but in a camaraderie sense that only continues to grow as he’d spend his free time (which is a lot, despite his job at the coffee shop) teaching Alec how to be a _werewolf_. The shifts, the scents, the controls.

This time, however, he’s beginning to dislike the innocence of the kid.

Theo’s in the bathroom puking his guts out, because lately he’s finding it harder and harder to swallow down the itch. Mason, Corey, and Alec are in the McCall pack living room doing (trying to do) homework and occasionally losing focus to drift off into a Monroe-conversation because, well, they can’t really just sit down and answer precalculus while the rest of the pack—Scott, Argent, Derek, Liam, and Malia who had taken an LOA in college just for this specific moment—are miles away from town in an attempt to capture Monroe.

It was the biggest tip they have ever gotten, a ninety-nine percent confirmation of Monroe’s whereabouts down north garnered from CCTV footages and hardware receipts, and Theo’s asked to stay with the rest of the “puppy pack”—as Stiles would call them—in case plans go haywire; Beacon Hills needs a guard. It’s also what worsens the churning in Theo’s stomach, the nauseating feeling never going away no matter what he does, so out of respect for Alec (Corey, too, but it isn’t as strong, chimera and all), Theo lingers in the kitchen and keeps an eye on his phone.

Alec had already asked him twice what’s wrong, once from Corey, and a confused look from Mason, but he’d just shrug them off, using the situation as an excuse for his uneasy stomach. There’s still a lingering skepticism in their scents, especially Alec who doesn’t bother hiding his suspiciously narrowed eyes.

But now, as Theo heaves and retches over the toilet, he can’t be bothered anymore. He’d think of an excuse later, but right now, the pain in his chest and throat is gradually doubling. Something else is materializing from his usual bile of petals, scratching at his insides, and when it finally reaches his tongue it scrapes the muscle before he’s spitting it out on the toilet bowl with an already disturbing mixture of red water from blood and the pile of stained flower petals.

Theo stares at the thin, small stem of a flower, the size of his index finger, floating above the toilet water and the disgusting mixture. _A fucking stem_ , Theo laughs sardonically in his head.

“There’s really a fucking garden inside me, huh?” Theo mumbles to himself before he reaches for the flush. His throat is on fire, slowly easing from his supernatural healing. His mouth tastes of pure blood, can’t even recognize the soil taste of the petals anymore, so he pulls himself upright and leans over the sink to gargle his mouth.

When he raises his head to face the mirror, water dripping from his chin, he winces. His supernatural healing is the only thing that’s delaying the physical manifestation of his fucked up insides, but up close, he can clearly see himself. He traces his jaw with a finger, edge sharper and thinner, the bags underneath his eyes a hue of faint purple. His hair is disheveled from the amount of times he had to stressfully run his hands through it minutes ago as he’d attempt to repress his puking session, occasionally accompanied with nail-biting and back-and-forth strides around the kitchen, staring at his phone and waiting for it to ping.

Always, he feels the itch in his throat and the rumble in his stomach, but more often than not he’s left with no choice; sometimes food triggers the petals sitting at the bottom of his throat, a steady pressure waiting to erupt, and before the food can even at least reach the entrance of his stomach, it’s already coming right back up his throat and out of his mouth, taking along the petals.

He feels like a walking volcanic eruption.

He knows for sure Corey and Alec had heard him, maybe even Mason if he’d threw up loud enough for human hearing, but they still seem to have brought his excuse because none of them are ramming on the door. But, he hears Alec:

“Maybe it’s the flowers.”

Theo freezes, grip tightening on the sink. His adrenaline is still at its peak from his recent puking session, so his hearing is clear and sharp like they’re just right _there_ and not on the other side of the house.

“What flowers?” It’s Corey who asks.

“I don’t know, earlier this morning, I—” Alec replies, and Theo feels his own chest sinking, “when you guys had to calm me down, I woke up early and saw him by the window on the—on the other side of the street, puking outside of his truck when he arrived. I swear to God they looked like flower petals. His—his unsettled scent was too much so I couldn’t control my shift, and then Scott had to knock me out, and when I woke up, I was too dazed to remember, but now that he’s like this…”

Theo lets his head hang in between his rigid shoulders. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his brain to think, think, think of an excuse. He remembers how fast he’d swept those petals and blood off the ground, replacing the scent and not bothering with the stain because he’d known the rising sunlight will make it fade off the cement anyway, and he’d done all that thinking everyone in the McCall home would still be fast asleep, too high on sensation to realize one certain werewolf infant had woken up.

“I’m still—” Alec continues, and Theo can picture the boy stretching his fingers. “I’m still having a hard time repressing my shift. It’s—the feeling’s too much.”

Theo pulls himself from the sink and storms out of the bathroom, knows Alec and Corey can hear him coming because he hears the slightest hitch of breath, and when he enters the living room, he doesn’t bother hiding whatever expression his face is showing (judging by Mason’s mouth opening in surprise).

“Dude, you look—” Mason says, mouth twitching, as if debating his choice of words, but continues anyway: “—you look like shit.”

“You,” Theo says to Alec, and he hates the biting tone of his voice, but everything is _too much_ and he can’t stop himself, “need to keep your mouth shut.”

“I—” Alec begins, but a ringtone cuts him off.

Theo’s phone is buzzing from the kitchen table. He throws the three—who blinks back at him—a firm once-over before hurrying inside and taking the call, as he sees on the screen, from Liam. “It’s Liam,” he says as he hears the three shuffle behind him even before saying so, like they already know that no one else would be calling Theo but Liam, or Scott, or anyone related to the hunt.

He answers and turns on the speaker mode.

“Theo,” he hears Liam’s voice, and it isn’t a tone of panic or dejection, and Theo finds himself briefly closing his eyes and letting out a sigh of relief. “Are you guys—” crackling, perhaps from the signal “—guys okay?”

“Yes,” it’s Mason who answers, hovering over Theo’s shoulder. “Nothing’s happened here, we didn’t hear anything from the Sheriff. Are _you_ guys okay?”

“We did it,” Liam says, and there’s a gasp of delight erupting from his throat, “we’re coming home. Monroe’s—Monroe’s dead.”

Theo’s happy. Really, he is. For once, he feels a certain bloom in his chest that’s freeing, like how his wrists had felt when he’d broke free from the cable tie Monroe’s followers had used on him months ago, like how it’d felt when he’d seen Liam alive when the elevator doors opened, like he’s getting pulled out of hell all over again.

There’s a chorus of _oh my gods_ and _yes!,_ and Mason has managed to steal Theo’s phone from his hand to shout a string of happy curses at Liam, Corey joining by his side and Alec beaming at Theo. It would appear uncanny for a group of teenagers to rejoice the death of _someone_ , but they are exactly that: a diverse set of uncanny individuals in an uncanny town. Maybe they deserve to at least have _this_.

Theo grins back at Alec, _tries_ to hold it, until he feels a sudden sharp jab in his chest.

He drops down on his knees and _groans_ at the unbearable pain, like someone is slicing his chest into half, and there’s something wrapping around his throat until he can’t breathe once more. He sees shadows on the ground as the three circle around him, can barely hear their _what’s wrong_ and _what the fuck is happening_ , and soon Theo’s clutching his throat as he pours his gut out.

He can feel the thin sheets of muscle in his throat continuously slicing open as he coughs out flowers; not just petals, but fully-bloomed blue flowers with stems until he’s both choking and coughing, a pool of blood beginning to scatter on the floor as the flowers continue to pile up. Squeezing and forcing their way out of the narrow tube of his throat, sputtering out of his lips, and he feels the slice on his gums and tongue.

 _Stop_ , Theo wants to say, _please make it stop._

“Theo!”

The flowers don’t stop. He feels them in his lungs, in his throat, in his tongue, in his lips, the surface of petals and stems constantly touching his insides. He tastes nothing but blood, and _everything_ hurts, more than it did when his heart was being taken out of him over and over again. For a brief second, he thinks he’d rather have _that_ than this, because he feels like he’s going to burst. His eyes are blurry because of tears, but mostly because he can’t keep them open anymore.

“Something’s wrong with Theo!”

_“What the fuck is going on there?”_

He’s already laying sideways on the ground, and his mouth doesn’t stop filling with petals, his tongue reflexively pushing all the flowers out. He clutches his neck and he isn’t sure if he feels his vein protruding or it’s the stem of a flower in his throat. He grasps for something in the air, doesn’t know what to touch; he feels someone trying to hold him up, maybe Alec or Corey, but it isn’t enough. _It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Just kill me please. Make it stop._

Theo tries to utter a word, but he only ends up coughing. The last thing he remembers is pain before he slips into unconsciousness.

*

He wakes up calm. His body isn’t on fire, though he feels the rasp in his throat when he tried to make a sound, and he figures his healing had finally settled his muscles. But he’s surprised that he didn’t wake up coughing, because for the past few weeks he’d always wake up to throw up another batch of petals, then he remembers the messy pile of blood and fully-bloomed flowers he’d left in the McCall pack kitchen. He grimaces. That’s going to take a lot of cleaning.

The room is dark and silent, but the moon and the streetlights from outside seep through the blinds, serving the room a dark glow, and Theo first hears the faint sound of traffic even with human hearing. He’s in the McCall guest room (or, well, Alec’s now), and he knows not because he’d slept here several times from when pack meetings would turn into reunions and sleepovers enough to recognize the space, but because he’d been hit by the familiar mixed scents of a _pack_ , smells oil and garlic and hears the sizzle of a pan (Melissa’s cooking something), hears several muffled voices downstairs. If he stretches his senses enough, he’d be able to make out their exact words, but he still feels a thread of exhaustion, and—there’s Liam.

Theo spots Liam on the beanbag situated in the corner of the room. He knows that Liam knows he’s already awake, but the beta remains looking down on the floor, his elbows propped on his knees and his hands clamped together at the back of his head. Theo tries to catch a scent, any sort of emotion, and he’s immediately hit with guilt and despair.

He wonders for a moment if he should talk first and ask about Monroe. Maybe that would have been what the emotion is for. After all, as far as Theo remembers, Monroe is dead; no further details, how she’s been killed, _who_ killed her, questions of which carry a certain weight knowing the McCall pack’s infamous principle is _not_ to kill, no matter if they’ve been wronged or the dead woman had been a genocidal murderer. Theo isn’t any different, doesn’t matter at what angle it’s looked at. Monroe’s driven by trauma, he’s driven by manipulation, but it doesn’t excuse the things they’ve done, the terrors they’ve caused towards the innocent. He murdered people, forever branded on his skin. It’d been his own claws and hands that was buried beneath Josh’s abdomen or Tracy’s spine—beneath Scott’s—and yet he’s in a McCall bed lying comfortably, and he’s allowed to saunter around within the circle, being fed by the pack he had tried tearing apart months ago, no matter how undeserved.

But before he could so much as open his mouth to speak:

“We asked Deaton,” Liam speaks up in a hoarse voice, not moving a bit from his position, and it almost appears like he’s a puppet and the voice is coming from somewhere else. “He told us everything.”

Theo feels his jaw clench, and he expects his heart to momentarily stop beating, but he isn’t really surprised. He’d known they’d find out one way or another—his puking sessions aren’t exactly simmering down, and his days are numbered so it’s only a matter of time; they’d either find him spilling his guts out _or_ his corpse, either way—but still he allows himself to be mad at Deaton who’d fooled him into thinking he’d _never_ tell. And, well, maybe he might have overestimated himself into thinking once Monroe’s captured he’d be able to flee Beacon Hills, no longer useful, and _pass_ somewhere.

“Don’t blame Deaton.” Liam, who must have sensed Theo’s faint anger, finally looks up. He runs his fingers through his hair and looks at Theo with worn out blue eyes. “He kept saying it’s better if you tell it yourself so I pointed a claw against his neck.”

Theo can’t read Liam’s expression despite the prominent scent of guilt—which Theo knows now is for _him_ , and it makes his chest clench, but, _it doesn’t matter_ —and it scares him, a bit, and he finds himself ridiculous for admitting it but it’s there. The uneasiness of not knowing exactly what’s on Liam’s mind. For the first time, he can’t tell what Liam’s eyes are trying to say.

The beta appears restful and set, and there’s a certain distance Theo can’t quite decipher. The blankness in his tone. It makes him want to run off and never look at Liam ever again because Liam now knows Theo’s in love with him and yet he’s like _this_ , and what else could it mean? Fucking human and vulnerable. Theo hates himself, hates how his body’s literally spitting out petals for him, a different way of spelling out _Liam Dunbar doesn’t love you back_ and still there’s a tiny spark somewhere within the valves of his heart that’s _hoping_ , maybe. Maybe.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t.” Theo flops his head back on the pillow so he can stop looking at Liam, so he can stare at the ceiling instead. He feels the tightness in his chest and the itch his throat, but he swallows it all down— _here we go again_ —because now isn’t the time to give Liam a show; he doesn’t want to rub it in Liam’s face. “Jesus, Dunbar, don’t—don’t apologize.”

“I care about you, Theo—”

Theo snickers. “Stop, Liam. I swear to god. Stop.”

“Why didn’t you go for the surgery?” Liam throws instead, and Theo almost flinches from the pierce in his tone.

For the first time, Theo Raeken is out of words. He sits up, knows Liam is watching him but still peels the blanket off his body anyway. He swings his legs over the bed so he can stand, so he can leave and never have this conversation again. But Liam stands up, too, marching over to Theo and stopping a feet apart from him. Theo clenches his jaw and looks away, plants himself on the bed.

“I want you to take the surgery,” Liam says— _demands_ —and when Theo looks up in surprise he can see the determination in Liam’s eyes. There’s no tick in his heartbeat, like it has been practiced and well-rehearsed for the long hours—or days?—Theo’s been asleep.

Theo feels a surge of anger and tries not to burst because, despite everything he’s done, he knows you can’t be angry at people for not loving you back. So he lets out a scornful laugh instead, stands up so he can look _down_ at Liam, and spits, “You can’t make decisions for me.”

 _That_ triggers the unsettling emotion Liam’s trying to hold down as he shoots Theo a look of disbelief, the scent of indignation slowly radiating off him, and Theo thinks and grins in his mind: _there he goes._

“What the fuck do you expect us to do?” Liam cries. “Watch you throw up all those stupid fucking flowers until you’re puking your intestines out and _die_? Huh? Watch you _rot_.” He shoves Theo’s shoulder, and the force is tough but at the same time _weak,_ only manages to move the shoulder he pushed. Theo remains in his ground, can’t help but stare at Liam in a blank gaze. “Tell me, Raeken, fucking _tell me_.”

Liam lets out a sob. Theo stares.

“Because I _want_ to feel the same—if it keeps you alive, I want to, but _Jesus Christ_. It’s not how it works! And I don’t—” Liam turns around and runs a hand through his face, and Theo can smell the faint scent of salty tears in the air. “I don’t know what to do.”

Theo’s beginning to feel numb. The itch in his throat is replaced by a lump, and for once it isn’t a petal or a full-bloom flower. It’s the kind of lump that brings heat at the back of your eyes and a clench in your chest. Theo blinks and feels a hot tear trickle down his cheek. He quickly wipes it away with the heel of his palm— _human and vulnerable_ —and thinks to himself: _I thought you wanted this?_

He tries once more: “You don’t need to watch,” he says, and Liam doesn’t turn around, so he watches Liam’s shoulders shake. He clears his throat to make sure his voice doesn’t crack as he continues, “I’ve got it planned. Monroe’s gone, I’m leaving Beacon Hills.”

Liam whirls around, face red and full of tears, and jabs a finger at Theo. “Still doesn’t change the fact that you’re _killing yourself_ , Theo! Because of me! The pack gave you a chance, _life_ gave you a chance to live it, why the fuck would you waste it—just because of _me_ …”

It all boils down to Liam’s guilt, Theo gets it. And Liam has had enough guilt all his life—from his IED growing up, from his parents, from Brett and Lory—and Theo can’t add up to that list. Liam cares, Theo knows, the way he cares about Mason and Corey and Scott and that _should_ be enough, considering he’s _Theo Raeken_ and there may only be a short list of good things he _can_ deserve, but apparently the stupid fucking disease doesn’t know how to be contented.

“I…” Liam takes a deep, shaky breath, his blue eyes glimmering, and his throat bobs from swallowing hard. He looks at Theo straight in the eye. “I can’t do this to you and you can’t do this to yourself. I care. I _care._ That’s why I don’t want you to die. And I’m really, _really_ sorry that it’s not enough.”

 _Don’t apologize,_ Theo wants to say, but the itch in his throat is painfully crawling. He twists around and lands on his knees, and coughs. Liam mumbles a _shit_ and is immediately crouching by his side, placing a bucket in front of his mouth. Theo takes it in his hands and pukes out bloodstained petals and two full-bloom flowers, sounding a squelch as it lands on the bucket. He heaves and tries to catch his breath, ignores Liam’s absent _are you okay?_ and leans his forehead against Liam’s shoulder, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

He feels Liam’s hand rubbing his back, and it’s so, _so_ soothing, but it also worsens the pain in his chest. He presses his forehead harder against Liam’s shoulder and cups the back of Liam’s neck with a shaking hand so he can push him closer.

“Theo, we need to get you some water—”

“I’ll do it—” Theo exhales “—I’ll do the surgery.”

He feels Liam freeze, muscles tensing, and after a few seconds it relaxes back. Liam presses his lips against the side of Theo’s forehead, continues to rub circles on his back, and whispers, “Okay. Okay, we’ll call Deaton. You’re all right.”

_Why didn’t you go for the surgery?_

“You make me human,” Theo reveals, outright blurting, barely above a whisper. He feels like he’s in a hurry; needs Liam to hear it, needs Liam to know.

“Theo—”

 _…why the fuck would you waste it—just because of_ me…

“I think being in love makes you a good person,” Theo admits, closes his eyes against Liam’s skin, and inhales his scent. “I promise I’ll be good for you.”

“ _Please_ , Theo,” Liam mumbles in Theo’s hair, his arms around the boy _tightening_. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I said stop apologizing, you idiot,” Theo mutters weakly. The itch in his throat is never gone, so is the heavy weight in his chest, but he still finds comfort as he settles in Liam’s warmth. “Let’s go to Deaton.”

“Okay,” Liam whispers, “okay…”

But they sit there for a while, and Theo takes his time.


	2. Chapter 2

**MONTHS LATER**

“I’ll take it from here,” a voice says behind Theo, and Theo whips around and bumps his head over the raised hood of the car from having leaned over the engine. He reflexively touches the back of his head—the pain already dissipating—still gaping at Mike as the man laughs, his goofy grin almost hidden in the thick beard surrounding his mouth.

Theo remains gaping and searching for words, his hand frozen at the back of his head, and only then he drops it when Mike gently pushes Theo aside as he positions himself from where Theo had been standing, and gives the exposed car parts a once-over.

“I thought you said you have your family thing,” Theo finally manages to say, absently watching Mike take over the radiator Theo had been trying to uncap, but it’s more of trying to assess Mike and _convince_ himself that this is really happening. Days ago, Theo had specifically asked Mike to take over his shift for this exact day, and the memory’s still crystal clear in his mind when Mike had winced apologetically and had said he’d already made plans with his wife and daughter. But now that he’s here—

“Nah,” Mike says with a nonchalant shrug. “Wife’s pops called and apparently got tickets for a baseball game outside of town today. I guess family date’s moved next Friday.”

Theo’s mouth drops open again but this time it’s a ghost of a disbelief grin, a wide one at that if he hadn’t stopped himself just because he doesn’t want to appear _too_ excited despite the bloom of _something_ in his chest. Mike notices it still when he glances at Theo, and _smirks_.

“Are you sure?” Theo tries again. “Because I’m—” Theo pauses and looks over at the clock from inside his boss’s office, the glass wall allowing the entire room to be in plain sight “—I think I won’t make it anyway.”

Mike sighs, glancing once at the clock and then back at Theo with a raised brow, a challenging look plastered on his face. “Yeah, if you don’t get your ass out of here.”

Theo remains standing still, his eyes moving like a ping-poll ball as his gaze flickers back and forth between Mike’s but debating with himself in his mind. Impatient, Mike tilts his head, and in a firmer tone, “ _Go._ I already told Jim about it. You’re good to go, Theo.”

Theo stares for a beat, forces himself to mutter a _thank you_ —and really, he is, but he’s never been good at words and gestures; at expression in general, those of which that are raw and honest—and then he goes.

He doesn’t bother wiping the grime off his hands or changing into a cleaner shirt when he grips on the steering wheel of his truck and backs out of the driveway, away from the automobile repair shop and deeper into the central core of town where Beacon Hills High School is situated.

He’d already convinced himself— _you’re not going to show yourself—_ and it’s not like there’s a lot of convincing to do. He’d slipped away for a reason. He had to double-think it for _days_ , right until the point where Mike had originally claimed he wouldn’t be able to take the shift, and Theo had known then that it was a sign. He didn’t have to. Except the universe had shifted its trajectory once more, because now Theo’s bouncing his knees and constantly glancing at the clock on his dashboard, presses harder on the gas when he spots an orange light from afar.

Theo had anticipated the lack of spot in the high school parking lot, so he parks his truck outside a diner near the entrance of the high school, his wheels halted in a turning position and left a mark on the asphalt, and he _bolts_. Even without his supernatural senses, a human would be able make out the muffled voice of the emcee coming from the booming speaker, but Theo sharpens his hearing just to be sure: the last name called was at letter _C_ , and Theo recognizes it from one of Liam’s teammates at the lacrosse team. He sprints.

When he gets to the field, his senses are filled with minute mindless chatter that reeks of euphoria; their children are graduating after all. He has to tiptoe past the crowd that didn’t bother taking the bleacher seats, his head constantly bobbing up and down amidst the sea of people as he tries to catch a glimpse of the stage. He stops near a section of graduating students and at the far left side of the stage and settles there, because from here he can already spot the familiar long hair of the beta idly waiting for his name to be called. At least as idle as possible; although Theo can’t sense Liam’s nerves in a suffocating canned-sardines crowd, he can make out the tensing of his shoulders.

And then: “Dunbar, Liam.”

Something swells in Theo’s chest. Pride and proud and _happy_ , but at the same time he can’t fight off the bitter taste lingering in his tongue. Envy and hope and the _what ifs_.

He gives himself _this_ moment to imagine if it’d ever be possible—if ever things had gone differently, if he had been _normal_. If it would be possible to stand here like every other teenager with a clean-shaved face and a perfectly brushed-up hair to look decent in a graduation picture, to feel hot and sweaty and uncomfortable under the satin layer of their graduation gown, how heavy the cap would be. He wonders if he’d find himself annoyed like the girl close to him because her parents are too obnoxious and excited and keeps pulling her in for more pictures.

But instead of graduation gowns and a brushed-up hair, he’s worn-out jeans and filthy hands. Instead of an A+ student with college anxiety, he’s a failed science experiment and a skilled murderer spy who ended up working with automobile machines instead of human organs so he can shove a meal in his stomach and _stay alive_ , and for what, what _else_ , he doesn’t know. He just does. A primary instinct engraved in his head ever since everything: just stay alive, _I don’t know what for_ , but just _be_ alive. From time to time, he’d realize how tiring it could get.

He wonders then what it’d feel to hear his name called for something else: an achievement, a _purpose_. He wonders if he’d have the same spark in his eyes like Liam’s as the boy shakes the hand of Mrs. Martin and takes his diploma. Theo can’t hear it, but he can read Mrs. Martin’s mouth: _congratulations_ , and then they both turn to the crowd to smile at the camera. Theo doesn’t realize his own lips quirking up into a grin.

Theo wonders, like he always does. His life is as good as it gets. When he was six, sitting frozen on the floor and staring up at his parents throwing sharp words back and forth, he wondered if they’d ever stop mentioning his name every time it happens. They didn’t. When he watched his sister turn cold and pale on the river under the bridge, he wondered if he’d ever see her again, and he did, by the morgue, _painful_ and _traumatizing_. But hey, who was he to look for a gift horse in the mouth?

When he turned nine, lying on the operating table with his chest cut open and the Doctors poking around his insides, he wondered if the pain will ever stop. It did, for a while, until it’s become the only feeling he’s ever known, so that’s a disappointment.

When he arrived in Beacon Hills, he wondered if this was it. The key to fill the gaping hole somewhere within his soul, the pacifier to the cries of his wolf. Clearly, it wasn’t. When Scott told him, _you’re barely even human_ , Theo wondered: _how do I become one?_ He believed he’d never been treated as one, never been _taught_ how to be, but this was what he’s been taught—he buried his claws in Scott’s gut.

When Liam—when Liam _happened_ , he wondered, and all he got were flower-filled lungs and a shattered … _heart_ , call it as it may. It’s funny, he remembers thinking, no matter what heart he has it always ends up damaged.

He finds himself closing his eyes, briefly, inhaling the thick waft of bittersweet scent emanating from the bustling crowd, and hopes this is the last time he relies on other people to feel a feeling that isn’t dark or sinister so he’d stop being disappointed.

He feels a bile of petal rise in his throat. _It’s enough_ , he thinks, and turns to leave.

He doesn’t see the way Liam’s smile drops, _sensing_ something, and looks around the crowd.

Theo’s already gone before Liam’s eyes can land on him.

*

_After Theo took the surgery, he slipped away from the picture._

_The McCall pack picture, that is to say, because he’d gladly spare them—and himself—the awkwardness that was bound to linger right after._

_He woke up in a hospital bed with a fuzzy mind and a thick bandage wrapped around his bare torso. It was silent and cold, and the first thing Deaton said when Theo spotted him in the chair at the far corner of the room with an ankle propped on his other knee and an open magazine in hand, was, “Melissa ordered everyone to go home. You’ll see them in the morning.”_

_Theo narrowed his eyes at Deaton—who didn’t bother sparing him a single glance, his eyes focused on the magazine as he lifted a page with his finger—and thought about asking what exactly had he meant with everyone, but he swallowed down the bright curiosity. What he asked instead, just for nonchalance, “What are you doing here?”_

_“Except Liam,” Deaton said, and Theo’s brows furrowed before realizing it’d been an extension of his earlier statement. He shut the magazine close and planted his attention on Theo, albeit looking bored if not his usual blank look. “He’ll be back.”_

_Theo slowly pulled himself upright, and he was halfway through carrying his weight with his elbows when he realized he couldn’t feel any pain_ at all _, so he full-on forced himself to sit up and planted his palms on the bed. “Why can’t I leave?”_

 _“Actually,” Deaton said, careful and calculating, “you_ can _.”_

 _Theo waited for him to continue, anticipating the_ but _._

_“We just need to confirm if it worked.”_

_Deaton didn’t mention_ how _but Theo already knew: invite Liam in, have him_ sense _his heartbeat. Watch out for the ticks, as if they didn’t know Theo had mastered the ability of control. It already sounded ridiculous even in his head, and he fought the urge to cackle hysterically at the absurdity of it all._

_“You don’t have to,” Theo said._

_Ignoring him, Deaton threw: “How are you feeling?”_

_“I’m fine,” Theo snapped. “Nothing’s painful. For once, I don’t feel like throwing up. Nothing stuck in my throat. That good enough?”_

_“That’s not what I meant.”_

_Theo clenched his jaw and looked away. He began recalling the events of the last few hours—or had it been days?—and automatically the shame made its way through his every nerve, felt himself sinking down in sheer_ humiliation _when the memories came echoing in his mind:_ you make me human _—the fuck was that?—_ I think being in love makes you a good person _. Right then and there Theo wanted to puke for a completely different reason._

 _“It’s gone,” Theo confirmed. “I really don’t—feel_ anything _.”_

_Except that had been a lie. Deaton had always been a laissez-faire towards Theo, as mysterious and questionable it was, but he’d find himself more grateful than bewildered because it was how he made his way out of the hospital without having to inform Melissa or wait for Liam to come back; after slipping off his hospital gown and throwing on his wrinkled shirt and jeans, he marched out into the hallways, hopped in his truck, and drove away._

_He had told Deaton to tell Liam or to whoever else in the pack that’d need to play ambassador (because he’s sure every single member had known by now what has happened) that he was fine. No longer a liability. Just thinking about it brought the wave of shame rising in his neck._

_He hadn’t told Deaton that the moment he had woken up, it was_ still _there. Not the petals or the full-bloom flowers, but the gaping hole in his chest; the big, fat L-word still pumping at the valves of his heart that’d send his stomach on a somersault at the mere mention of_ Liam _._

_When he drove away in his truck, he found himself staring absently at the windshield, driving down the road aimlessly, farther and farther, and eventually he chuckled to himself._

_He’s_ fucked.

 _Beans and Scones, where Theo worked (or used to now), was only two blocks away from the high school, hence it had become Liam’s and his friends’ makeshift study hub where Theo had never missed a streak on being their_ official _server. He wouldn’t need to ask for their orders anymore. Eventually he’d learned_ each _of their coffee preference; the exact amount of sugar, the proper mixture of flavor. He’d make them himself. When they would come in, their noisy chatter overlapping the bell chime, Theo from the kitchen would hear their heartbeats and smell their scents, but his human co-worker from the cashier didn’t know that, so he’d yell, “Theo! Your friends are here.”_

 _He decided he would have to break the streak. It was his first stop as he pulled up his truck on the other side of the road where Beans and Scones was situated: he had to resign. It didn’t take long, and Theo figured it only took one look at his physical state for is boss to let him go. His mind was too fuzzy to_ really _wrap it around his head, whether he’d resigned or he’d actually been fired. “You missed seven shifts, Theo,” his boss had said the same time he had muttered, “I quit,” and he figured his boss doesn’t give a single fuck, so he hadn’t bothered explaining_ why _; that he had to miss so many shifts because the customers probably wouldn’t be too happy to see a server uncontrollably spilling his guts with blood and full-bloom flowers and probably headline it as zombie outbreak on the news; that he had to quit because his heart is broken. Funny._

_Before he walked out of the door, one hand wrapped around the handle, he looked over his shoulder and at the corner booth where Liam and Corey and Mason (and recently, Alec) would always be confined together, either with their heads hanging low as they busy themselves with homework or heads thrown back when they burst into a rowdy laughter. The memory’s so vivid and strong, their scents lingering somewhere within the worn-out cushion seats, and Theo would almost think he’s hallucinating. A pang in his chest, and then he walked out._

_Theo wouldn’t see them in the morning. Not the morning after that, either. And the next._

_Second stop: find a different job._

*

_Theo gave himself an ultimatum._

_In his next job, his boss was a chain smoker. The scent of nicotine was already thick around his throat before he could so much as enter the premises. Theo was standing for fifteen minutes or so outside an automobile repair shop by the edge of town, watching men with grime-filled shirt work under a car and debating two things in his mind before a scruffy guy, who kept throwing glances at the teenager by the window as he wiped things with a cloth, finally went out and pointed at Theo’s truck with his chin._

_Theo realized he was leaning against it. He straightened at the sight of the man, watched as the man flickered his gaze between Theo and his truck, hands still rubbing small machine parts with an already dark filthy cloth._

_“Need to get that fixed up?” the man asked, sounding careful, and from his tone Theo figured the man probably thought the reason why Theo had been standing outside for so long was because Theo didn’t have the money to get his truck fixed._

_But: “Actually, I need a job.”_

_The man paused and studied Theo for a beat or two, and resumed wiping whatever it was he was trying to clean; Theo fought the urge to mention how the grubby smeared cloth was only making it worse._

_“You know how to work with tools?”_

_Theo swallowed hard. If there was one good thing the Dread Doctors has given him, it was his brain. Or, well, the way they had picked it apart, as did these men with cars, and had replaced with better working gears. The kind that learns, and adapts, and survives. Easy and fast._

_“I can learn,” Theo said. And it was true: he’d spent most of his life watching—and at often times, doing it himself—the Doctors cut and tear and stitch back a living human body. Theo figured machines would be much easier to handle; machines don’t struggle, machines won’t look_ _at Theo in the eye and say_ please, help me _before the Doctors work a scalpel on their chests._

_“Sorry, kid…”_

_Theo had seen it coming, and for the quickest second he considered letting it go. Just hop back in his truck, leave,_ really _leave, and not think about it for one goddamn second, but before the man could turn around, Theo advanced and the words were already spilling out of his mouth._

_“Just—just for a few weeks,” Theo negotiated, and it’s what he had also told himself months ago, after the war and the hospital, and hours ago after his surgery before he had pulled away from a random person’s driveway (Theo had done his sleuthing; the family was gone for vacation for the rest of the weekend) where he could spend a night in his truck without having knuckles ramming against his window and drove away to finally search for a new job._

_Maybe it was the desperation in his tone, or the washed up state of his jeans that indicated it had been used plenty of times, or hell, maybe the man was just too kind and naïve, because he sighed and gave Theo another once-over before saying, “Come back tomorrow.”_

_Theo found himself a job, and by some miracle he also found himself a decent bed when Derek Hale appeared in front of his truck nights later, his tapping against the window of Theo’s truck too identical to a cop’s that Theo’s next move almost felt like a habit. But when he was about to open the door to transfer to the driver’s seat, his fingers paused around the handle. His sleep-induced eyes widened a fraction of an inch, and he blinked at the man._

_“I know you.”_

_“Good,” said Derek and dropped his hands to his sides from having it folded over his chest, like he had been watching Theo sleeping for a good few minutes. “Come with me.”_

_Theo’s first thought was perhaps another supernatural figure has come to shower misery upon the cursed town of Beacon Hills and the McCall pack has been trying to gather as much allies as they could._ Ally _; even in his mind he could taste its bitter tang._ (Give us a goddamn break, Monroe just died.) _But if that had been the case, Theo would have known with the amount of times he’d drive aimlessly around town, which led to his second thought: they cared enough to get ahold of him in case he plans another ruthless manipulation, but not bothered enough to actually send an active member of the pack, hence the arrival of Derek Hale. Why Theo expected—_ hoped _—for someone else, he didn’t want to know._

_What he didn’t expect was to follow Derek—he couldn’t believe he’d even followed him in the first place—into a small, empty loft. From the dark with only the moonlight to provide luminosity, the living room with only a single couch and a coffee table to inhabit its space appeared like a grainy vignette picture. There was a spiral staircase that Theo assumed would lead to the bedroom, and on the other side of the room an archway led to the kitchen judging from the peeking empty counter from Theo’s view by the front door._

_“This is a fancy prison,” Theo couldn’t help but comment as he dropped his large duffle bag with a soft thump._

_“Right,” Derek snickered. “Liam warned me about this.”_

_Theo turned to him with a frown. “About what?”_

_Derek didn’t answer, only looked at Theo for a beat. Then, he took a deep breath and gave the room a quick once-over. “We’ll set up more furniture by the next few days. Get some rest.”_

_Derek shifted on his heel to leave, shoulder already past Theo, when Theo spoke up._

_“How did you find out?” Theo asked, just because he wanted to be sure._

_It was Derek’s turn to frown and give him a puzzled look. When he didn’t answer, Theo raised an eyebrow, and only then Derek understood what Theo had meant._

_“During your surgery,” was all he said. “Welcome to your new home, Theo.”_

_And he left._

_Two hours after Derek had left, Theo was still wide awake and laid flat on his back on the mattress on the floor, up in the empty bedroom. Only him and the soft cushions and the amount of space he could drape his limbs onto. He kept rolling over, twisting and turning, unused to the freedom the large mattress was giving him._

Home _, it echoed in his mind like a chant._ Home, home, home _. Set up more furniture by the next few days, Derek had said, like it was going to be permanent. Something bloomed in his chest, and he allowed himself to feel it—just for a few seconds, maybe a minute or two—before he shoved it off and remembered his ultimatum._ But at what demand?

_Eventually, he got up and pushed the mattress until its other side was by the wall, where he can squeeze himself against it as he lied down and draped a blanket over his form. He placed a pillow on his other side so he can sandwich himself between it and the wall, and soon he found comfort in the tight space he’s given himself. Felt more like home, and he drifted off to sleep._

*

Four months later, Theo isn’t sure anymore if his ultimatum still stands.

Attending Liam’s graduation yesterday is a petty mistake, because now he’s back to hunching over and puking his guts out like a trigger had been set off. He spits out the petal that clings on his tongue and absently thanks whoever deity in his mind that the rest of his co-workers are away to a burger place two blocks far for lunch, and his boss is probably in his office muttering through a cigarette stick between his teeth and chattering with a fishing buddy.

Theo had chosen the first trunk from a section of trees behind the shop to rest his hand against as he vomits the last of his breakfast. This is why he’d turned down Mike’s offer— _we’re heading to that new burger place, you joining?_ —because, although they aren’t exactly nosy, the sound of his retching would be alarming enough to flicker attention and maybe a bit of hysteria, let alone the petals and blood.

_“Dude.”_

Except there’s Mason, whom Theo didn’t even _sense_ coming, too busy with swallowing down the bitter taste and catching his breath.

So when he whips around in a jolt, staring at Mason with his teary eyes, who’s staring back with equally wide pupils, he says too unkindly: “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing?” Mason shoots back, pointing at him—at the red-stained blades of grass on the ground—with his palm slicing through the air. “You—but Deaton—it’s happening again!”

Theo wipes his mouth and pushes past Mason’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t be here,” he spits out, because he has nothing else to say. He knows damn well it _shouldn’t_ be happening again.

“Wait, listen,” Mason rushes behind him as Theo surges for his truck. “This is _great_. I mean not like that, but—”

“ _Leave,_ Mason,” Theo barks and pulls open his truck door with near-supernatural force it almost hit Mason right in the face (who steps back immediately), and he _almost_ feels bad, except he senses the slightest hint of delight radiating off the guy (for whatever reason), so he roughly turns away and reaches for the bottle of mouthwash from the compartment.

“Just hear me out, Theo. Five minutes of talk,” Mason tries to convince, gesturing his hands in a _sure_ manner. When Theo continues to ignore him, swirling the mouthwash around his mouth a _bit_ more obnoxious, Mason adds, “This is about Liam.”

As if _that_ would work.

Although, Theo must admit only to himself, it _is_ a bit difficult to ignore.

Theo spits the mouthwash on the grass (rather harshly), puts the bottle back in his truck, and he shuts the door the same time he flashes Mason a blank look. “No.”

Then he turns and heads inside the shop. He can tell Mason’s taken aback for a beat before he hears the boy’s feet shuffling again to follow him, his scent starting to tinge with vexation. “Seriously? You’re _still_ an asshole?”

“Unfortunately,” Theo deadpans, maneuvering his way around cars and scattered machine parts—Mason trips at one of them and curses at himself. “So better leave then, huh?”

Theo picks up the first car part he sees on the work bench—a detached side view mirror—and a cloth before leaning against the bench, begins to rub the mirror and flashes Mason a mirth grin who kicks away the car part he’d tripped on before standing upright in fake collectedness.

Mason glares—no real heat—and tries again, “Two minutes.”

Theo raises his full hands, grin wide and fake. “I’m working.”

“Your boss doesn’t seem to mind,” Mason retorts and jerks his head towards the direction of Jim’s office.

Theo looks at the glass panel where he can see Jim throwing his head back with laughter, feet propped up on his desk, a phone against his ear, and the stick in his hand burned to half.

“Fine,” Theo says eventually, focusing his gaze back on the mirror he’s _pretending_ to clean and leans back more against the work bench, just so he can try to act disinterested because he’s an asshole like that. “Your two minutes starts now.”

“I have a theory,” Mason declares.

“Interesting,” Theo mutters in fake glee. “Go on.”

“I didn’t even want to consider- _consider_ it but after witnessing your hacking relapse, I think it ticks off at least four out of five boxes in my hypothesis.”

Theo peers at him through his lashes, still indifferent and sluggishly wiping the mirror. “I think you should just get straight to the point.”

“Okay, look,” Mason takes a step forward, and Theo knows then there’s absolutely no stopping him now. “Liam and I grew up together. Literally since we were in our diapers, or maybe even since inside our momma’s wombs—”

“ _Again_ , straight to the point.”

“Will you just listen to me?” Mason scoffs, and Theo’s brows quirk up as he raises his hands in defeat. “So it _means_ —” Mason continues firmly, flashing Theo a pointed, trusted look _not_ to speak; Theo lets him “—that I know Liam very well, probably better than he knows himself. Which is why I’m confused with this … bizarre health deterioration going on with you. Like what even are the reservations? Would it be enough that he feels the same or must the supernatural universe hear him say ‘ _I’m in love with you, too’_ right in front of your face?”

Theo ignores the word _that_ —he feels the same—not _if_ , coming from Liam’s _best friend_ ’s mouth, and carelessly shrugs one shoulder. His focus is back on the mirror again, but still absently. “Neither. Doesn’t matter. I don’t feel that way for him anymore. Surgery, remember?”

Theo shamefully hears the skip of his own heartbeat.

“And yet you’re out there puking your guts out _again_. I may not be a supernatural but you can’t lie to me, Theo.”

 _I lied to_ all of you _before._

“Like what you said, maybe it’s some sort of relapse,” Theo tries.

Mason falls silent. Theo doesn’t look up, thinks maybe Mason’s considering it, that is if it isn’t already on his hypothesis list.

Then: “Liam’s not himself.”

Theo feels his jaw clench, and finds himself rubbing harder at the stupid stain on the corner of the mirror, though he isn’t really trying. He doesn’t say anything.

“Not for the past few months that you’ve decided to disappear off the face of the earth,” Mason continues. “ _Actually_ , he’s beginning to pick himself up again until _you_ decided to show up on our graduation. No, he didn’t see you. He _smelled_ your scent, in a crowd of sweaty teenagers and all that brouhaha, can you imagine?”

“So that’s what this is?” Theo drawls. “Best friend comes to confront the toxic lover to warn him to stay away forever.”

“What?” Mason jerks his head back, his expression crumpling in an irritated disbelief. “All I’m trying to say is maybe it’s _not_ Liam who doesn’t love you back.”

Theo can’t help the reflexive snort that comes through his nose; _he’s_ in disbelief. “Who, then? Scott? Stiles? Hell, maybe I’m in love with your Mom. Her chicken casserole is to die for.”

Mason doesn’t say anything, and Theo thinks of _apologizing_ ; after all, Mason appears to be genuinely invested with _whatever_ this is he’s trying to prove. In Theo’s defense, deep down, he’s afraid of what else Mason may have to say.

“Maybe if you’d just look a little closer,” Mason says after a short stretch of silence, and the coldness in his tone is surprising. He’s also looking down at Theo’s hands—the _object_ in Theo’s hand—as an implication.

Theo follows his gaze, looks down, and instead of seeing the stupid stain on the mirror, it’s his own reflection he sees. He watches his own brows furrowing in confusion, and after a beat, his brain pings. His torso goes rigid. It causes him to chuckle humorlessly, and his voice is laced with a biting tone when he snaps at Mason.

“If you start rattling on about self-love bullshit—”

“Am I wrong though?” Mason cuts off. For once, it’s Theo who grows quiet. He looks away. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if Liam goes off to find somebody else. But if he can’t, and he doesn’t, and it’s still _you_ , then it is what it is. None of us are a big fan of your past, but he’s my best friend and if he sees something we don’t, I’m not going to get in the way of that. None of us are, not even Stiles. We’re all very generous with chances, Theo. Maybe you should be, too.”

Theo straightens up and rolls his shoulder back, feels the cold tension in his muscles dissipate a little as he glances at Mason with a cocky look. “That’s not what you said before.”

 _It doesn’t matter who forgets—_ Theo remembers the dark of the sewers and the harsh finality in Mason’s voice— _I won’t._

“Yet _here_ I am right in front of _you_ ,” Mason deadpans, “speaking for my friend even after everything you’ve done to us, to _him_. I could turn my back without a blink of hesitation because I _know_ you won’t claw my head off. Not anymore. _We_ have known for all those months since the war, since _after_ —” his voice wavers; Theo pretends not to notice “—but if it still means nothing to you then that’s your own dilemma to solve.”

“Why are you telling me all these?”

Mason doesn’t hesitate: “You’re _pack_.”

“Bullshit,” Theo spits, laughing sardonically, the word already coming out of his mouth at the _you’re_ before Mason could even finish with _pack_. “You all need me to take you to a trip down memory lane?”

Mason’s scent goes hot and he doesn’t bother hiding his irritation.

“Whether or not we’d forgive you is not _your_ decision to make. And clearly, we’ve made a decision. So, I don’t know, man. I’m just here because I wanted you to know for Liam’s sake. But if you’re still too hooked up in this pity-party you’ve got going on here—” he gestures around, and Theo feels rage prickling at his veins “—you do you. We’re not going to force you.”

Mason turns around at that and begins to walk away, and Theo wants to say _fuck you_ , because the tip of Mason’s words hit bull’s eye, but he closes his eyes briefly— _I promise I’ll be good for you—_ and says instead, tone dripping with venom, “For the record, what you’re claiming is just a speculation.”

Mason stops and twists to look at Theo, to give him a striking once-over, says, “I think I’ve garnered all the facts right here,” and leaves.

*

It’s nearing midnight and Theo’s still shifting around on the beat-up mattress of his—Derek’s?—apartment. He stares at the chipping paint of the ceiling and eventually allows himself to listen the soft snores of his seventy-year-old neighbor next door; the walls are thin, insufferable enough for human hearing, and he can’t shut off his supernatural senses because his cortisol levels are too high to functionally control himself. He’s been struggling with that a lot lately.

Eventually, he’s had enough. He gets up, not bothering to get his truck keys, and heads for the door.

He runs.

He ends up in the preserve, by the bridge. He’s in a dazed state of mind, and he hadn’t really been thinking of a destination until he’s staring at his reflection on the water below.

He takes off his shoes first, then jeans, then shirt, and he sits by the edge, letting his bare legs hang while he stares. He stares and stares, too long that he starts seeing Tara again, laid out on the water-slicked rocks, pale and shivering, calling for his name. She’s not snatching his— _her—_ heart out of his body, but it isn’t any different.

Eventually, he shifts into a wolf. He lets the animal take over _all_ of him, and when he’s all furs and paws, he runs. He reaches the edge of a cliff, the awkward structure by the hip of the preserve tipped out like a sore thumb. From here, his entire world is the star-dotted night sky and the sleeping town of Beacon Hills. His entire world has _always_ been this small.

He howls at the moon. It’s a cry, a big _fuck you for ruining my life_ even though the innocent planet doesn’t really affect him. But tonight it’s nearly full and bright and staring right down at him and it almost feels mocking, and Theo’s just _bursting_.

*

Theo ends up outside Liam’s house.

He’s sure, that even if Liam had been sleeping, his shameful howls might have reached the beta’s presence and had already woken him up, but that’s not why he’s here.

He’s fully dressed, having managed to shift back at the preserve before his instincts had gone and brought him outside the Dunbar-Geyer household. The other side of the street adjacent to theirs is an empty lot, but there’s a tall sycamore tree where Theo can lean against while he quietly makes out their heartbeats; all calm and steady.

Until one perks up, and Theo flinches. His mind is rushing, and he’s shifting his back, attempting to flee. Run away again, _never_ show himself like what he’d originally planned, but before he could so much as move his foot, the Dunbar-Geyer front door flings open.

“Theo?”

Theo’s chest is still tight, and it doesn’t help that Liam in his ruffled hair and wrinkled pajamas is walking barefoot on the pavement, walking across the street so he can stand in front of him. His eyes are wide and blue and shimmering and _god_ , it’s taking every ounce of strength for Theo not to just leap and pull the beta in his arms.

“What are you—” Liam swallows hard “—what are you doing here?”

 _I don’t know,_ Theo thinks. He can’t talk, because something’s building up inside him, and it’s not petals or full-bloom flowers. It’s the painful lump from repressing everything for _years_ , and he’s already thinking that he will _definitely_ regret it later, but Theo can’t stop it anymore.

Theo slowly drops on his knees, wraps his arms around the back of Liam’s thighs, and buries his face in Liam’s stomach. He feels Liam go still.

“ _Theo_ ,” Liam’s voice cracks, “what are you doing?”

“Just a moment,” Theo whispers, voice hoarse, and his face is hot and wet from tears. He wants to apologize for drenching Liam’s shirt, but it’s nothing compared to the amount of things he’s sorry for. He can’t say them either, so all he does is tighten his grip around Liam’s legs, buries his face against the beta’s abdomen a little harder, and _sobs_.

He doesn’t remember the last time he cried like this; tears too hot and rushing, chest too tight he feels like he can’t breathe, and he’s sounding a ridiculous mixture of heaving and sobbing. He thinks he’ll regret this later, but with Liam it only feels right. It feels _okay_ to be like this, to be this open and human and vulnerable. Who else but with Liam?

What he doesn’t expect is for Liam to put a hand on the back of his head, curls his fingers on his hair, and pushes him closer. He puts another hand, slides it down to cup the back of Theo’s neck, and gently rubs the spot there with his thumb.

Theo clutches the back of Liam’s shirt and feels all his strength slip away; he’s giving in, all-out, on his knees and finally allowing himself to break.

“It’s okay,” Liam says, _reassures_ , his thumb never halting its motion, his grip never loosening. “I’m here.”

 _I’m here_ , and it sends another resounding crack in Theo’s chest. If Liam hadn’t been holding his head, he _knows_ he’d collapse on the ground in a sobbing pile of tears.

He tightens his hold.

*

Theo is the first to pull away when his sobs begin to settle into a steady breathing and his cheeks go dry and sticky from tears. He mutters a quiet sorry when he sees the wet faded blotch on Liam’s shirt, and Liam only mutters back an _it’s okay_ , and Theo can feel the beta’s gaze on him, fragile and calculating, but Theo refuses to look at him in the eye.

He sniffs once and wipes his face hastily with the back of his hand, shifting his legs so he can sit and rest his back against the large trunk of the sycamore tree. He tilts his head so he can face the sky and closes his eyes, swallowing hard and allowing his body to feel the draining sensation, because as he’s admitting to himself: it’s _good_. Feels good to lose energy because of _crying_.

He can still feel Liam’s eyes on him, but eventually he feels movement on his side. Theo opens his eyes back and watches as Liam settles himself beside him, legs stretched out, thigh touching Theo’s. The midnight air is cold and nipping on Theo’s skin, but Liam by his side is warm and comforting, so this time he doesn’t hesitate: he presses his thigh closer against Liam’s.

Liam presses back.

They stay silent for a while, absently staring straight ahead, and it’s peaceful, despite the long stretch of gap they’ve left in months. Too large to fill, but at the same time they’re not in a rush. They don’t _feel_ the rush. Under the tree, side-by-side, they have all the time in the world.

But Theo starts to fill for the silence, because he _knows_ no matter how comforting a presence could be, sometimes words need to be spoken.

“I never did get to ask about what happened to—” Theo cuts himself off and waits for any shift in Liam’s chemosignals. Nothing. He continues, softly, “—to Monroe. How did she … who?”

Liam hums, and Theo can’t help but glance over at him, and sees the corner of his mouth quirked up, quite bemused as he says, “You thought it was me.”

Theo falters. “No, I—last time, you were—”

“Nah,” Liam chuckles at the hint of _panic_ in Theo’s tone, and at that Theo fights the urge to roll his eyes, but he snorts and resumes admiring the flower pots lined outside the Dunbar-Geyer household. “It was Derek,” Liam says, humor dissipating. There’s still no shift in Liam’s scent—no tinge of rage or something hot—but when Theo looks over at him again, his gaze is unfocused. “I heard Scott saying something about claws deep in her gut enough to—to _kill_ , but not enough to turn her. Didn’t want a repeat of history.”

Theo hums in acknowledgment. He’s heard of it, the _La Loba_ , but she’s never been an integral piece in Theo’s … _mission_ before, so he’d never bothered studying that information.

A car zooms past with a loud, rumbling engine, both Theo and Liam absentmindedly looking up at the blinding headlights and gaze following the vehicle until it disappears down the road and from their line of vision, and the silence falls back.

This time, Theo is out of words, because there’s only _one_ other thing that _should_ be addressed, and frankly, he doesn’t know where to begin.

Liam does: “Look, Theo, I—”

“ _Liam_ ,” Theo stops him because _this time_ , Liam’s scent is shifting, and Theo knows exactly where the conversation is heading, and it’s already sending an uncomfortable coil in Theo’s stomach because he’s not sure whether he doesn’t know how to deal with it or he’s just _never_ ready for it. Probably both. _But isn’t that why you came here?_

“No, please. Just _listen_ ,” Liam retorts firmly. “I need you to listen to me. I have a lot to say and—and I need you to hear exactly what I have to say before I lose it.”

Theo shuts up.

“I’ve always known there was something…” Liam begins, and Theo finds himself closing his eyes because six words in and _something_ is already happening in his stomach. Theo could physically hear Liam swallowing _hard_. “I’ve always known I started … feeling things. About you.”

Theo sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to settle his insides and hoping to all the deities in the world that Liam isn’t hearing the fast thump of his heart. And he’s an atheist, so that says a lot. It also means that Liam is most _definitely_ hearing it.

Theo can hear Liam’s, too.

“But it just seemed like there was never a right time to like, really acknowledge it, you know? Every time we’re alone it would just feel so _right_ that it’s so scary to bring it up and ruin things.”

Theo’s sure he’s going to _burst,_ until Liam’s scent begins to settle into something else. Something bitter and foul that it gives Theo the courage to open his eyes and look at Liam, and Liam isn’t exactly hiding his expression. His brows are furrowed, looking down at his lap as he fiddles with his fingers. Theo fights the urge to reach over and hold his hand.

“And then Monroe happened,” Liam continues. “And despite everything that’s happened and all the supernatural shit I’ve discovered, can’t help but still take a toll, you know? Then my grades slipped so bad I almost lost the eligibility to graduate, Mom got so stressed, and my mind’s too fucking wrapped up hoping to catch Monroe, and then we did, and that thing happened to you, and I … I felt like I was drowning.”

Theo stares at Liam and _waits_ , and _listens_.

“I knew then I had feelings for you but with all of that’s going on I thought that maybe it didn’t matter, because _clearly_ what I felt wasn’t enough,” Liam laughs humorlessly, shrugging one shoulder. “I didn’t know what to deal with first. Everything’s just … toppling down all at once. I had to push you to do the surgery. I knew then it was the only way.”

Theo wants to say, _I know_ , but he bites his tongue instead.

“I wanted so _bad_ to visit you in Derek’s—in your apartment, I wanted so _bad_ to check up on you.” Liam’s voice cracks, and Theo closes his eyes once more to fight off the heat building up behind his eyelids. “But I was a _mess._ So fucking messy, and what good would that do to you? And I thought, I pushed you away. Forcing you to take the surgery was sending a message. I couldn’t be selfish, but in a way I still was. Still am.”

Theo hears Liam’s shaky inhale of breath, and both their scents are _too_ suffocating that he feels his lungs starting to clog up; he inhales, too, and digs the heel of his palm on his tightening chest.

“I … went back to therapy,” Liam admits. Theo snaps his eyes open at Liam. “Started getting my grades back up. Realized that, at least, I got a family and a comfortable bed, I have my friends, and you were—I feel like I’m saying this wrong, I—”

“ _Liam_ ,” Theo finally says, “ _I know_.” His fingers twitch, aching to entangle it with Liam’s, so he curls them instead into a fist as he says, “I get it. All that shit you’ve been through—”

“And you, too,” Liam presses.

“I _know_ ,” Theo repeats, firmly, and nearly melts when Liam peers at him with softness in his eyes. “That’s why I don’t want you to invalidate your problems just because of mine.”

“No, I know, I know that—I just…” Liam shakes his head, jaw clenching. “What I’m trying to say is, _I’m sorry._ I really am. I’ve been too busy dealing with my own shit that I couldn’t even be _there_.”

“Liam—”

“I couldn’t even be there as a _friend_ , let alone a—” Liam gulps, and Theo feels his own throat going dry. “ _We_ weren’t there,” Liam continues, letting out a sardonic laugh that Theo could physically make out the look of disappointment in Liam’s eyes, a simmering rage beginning to leak from his scent. “I mean, I don’t know, since you were nine, since _everything_ , I didn’t know if there was ever _anyone_ there for you and it just—it feels _unfair_. It makes me angry. At this stupid fucking moon magic, at the Doctors, at myself. But _this time_ —”

Theo stops fighting his urges and allows himself to surge forward. He wraps an arm around Liam and buries his face in his neck, and it’s an awkward hug because they’re both leaning against the tree, but it’s _enough_. Theo can only count in his fingers the amount of times he’s been hugged, and it feels _good_ , so he isn’t going to complain.

“I know,” he says again.

Liam freezes, his heart skipping a beat, and in seconds he’s wrapping both arms around Theo and burying his own face against the crook of Theo’s neck. Theo sighs and melts and inhales his intoxicating warmth.

“I really wanna be here for you,” Liam mumbles, muffled against the skin of Theo’s collarbone. “I’m here now, and I’m sorry it took so long. I want to be here. I want _you_.”

Theo exhales a shaky breath, fingers curling at the hem of Liam’s shirt. He repeats, “I know.”

“I understand if—”

“ _Liam_.” Theo pulls away and grins, blinking back heat in his eyes. He gulps, sticking a tongue out to wet his lips, as he _finally_ grabs ahold of Liam’s hand, entwining their fingers, and basking in the way his heart thumps from Liam’s glimmering stare. “After everything I’ve done, after everything, you’re still _here_. And to me—” he presses their tangled hands, Liam’s knuckles, against his chest “—you’ve always been.”

“Shit,” Liam laughs, wetting his own lips, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Theo doesn’t hesitate: he leans in and presses his lips against Liam’s, firm and grounding. He doesn’t hear the chirping insects anymore or the soft rustling of leaves from the wind; it’s just their heartbeats thudding thunderously, fast and rushing. When he pulls away, it’s only for a second, so he can angle better and kiss him properly, open-mouthed and tasting. Liam’s hands slide down to fist Theo’s shirt, and Theo curls his fingers at the back of Liam’s head to pull him close, their chests pressed, torsos twisted, legs folded and entangled with each other’s.

For a second, Theo wonders if there’s an awake neighbor who’d happen to peek at the window and see two men making-out under a tree, but he can’t be bothered to care.

Liam pulls away, out of breath, and rests his forehead against Theo’s. He’s grinning _too_ brightly and Theo knows he is, too. “So…” Liam says, using both hands to cup Theo’s cheek and pressing a chaste kiss on his lips. He swallows hard. “We’ll … we’ll try, right?”

Theo nods. “We’ll try.”

Liam lets out a watery laugh, and presses another kiss. “We’ll help each other.” And, with a knowing look, he pulls away to hold Theo’s hand and bring his knuckles against his lips. “And we’ll help ourselves.”

Theo chuckles, resting the side of his head against the tree trunk so he can look at Liam like _this_ , fondly, their hands still tangled between them. “I’m guessing Mason told you.”

“He did,” Liam beams and copies Theo’s position. “And you know that double-sided whiteboard we use at group studies? One day he just rolled it into the living room and flipped it and _bam_ , it’s filled with ridiculously neat diagrams of his theories about your condition.”

Theo gapes. “He didn’t.”

“And he made us sit down and listen to his points with a stick and all. It’s like bringing Chidi Anagonye to life.”

Theo laughs and remembers the time Liam had to sit him down and make him watch one of his favorite shows, where they’d spent more time bickering than actual watching because Liam had been desperate to convince Theo that heaven and hell weren’t as simple as black and white, if it was real, just like how it is on earth, on their present world. “It’s why I’m sure you’re different,” Liam had said, and it had been supposed to be a nonchalant comment, but to Theo it had taken a hefty weight.

“I think he’s right though,” Liam eventually says, and Theo’s grin falters as he watches Liam absentmindedly switching back and forth from tracing the lines in Theo’s palm to poking it.

Theo says, throaty, “Maybe.”

“I know it’s not easy, but…” Liam takes a deep breath and peers at Theo through his lashes, head lolling a bit when he fails to steady it against the trunk. “One of the steps is to welcome those who are willing to help, too. You’re not—you’re not alone in this anymore. You have me. You have _us._ We’ll figure it out, ‘kay?”

Theo’s never been good at words, at expression in general—those of which that are raw and honest. But he’ll _try_ , it’s a promise. He’s done it before— _you make me human_ —and he can do it again. He starts with flashing Liam a small smile, pushing back all the inhibitions in his head, _welcoming_ , and says, “Thank you.”

*

“How about,” Ms. Morrell crosses a leg over the other and shifts her gaze to Theo after jotting something down in the clipboard on her lap, “we take a different route, from the way you keep trying to make sense of … humans, in general. You said you’re leaving for a trip later today with your friends?”

“Yeah,” Theo says, looping a loose fabric around his finger from the beanbag he’s sitting on. He eyes the woman at the term _friends_ , and he thinks she’s trying too hard to disparate her _actual_ role involving the pack, but he knows professionalism is at hand and inside this room, _her_ office, he’s just a patient and she’s just a psychologist, only it’s branded with the supernatural. “It’s this camp thing. A McCall pack tradition. It’s the last in a while before Liam and the others go off to college. Before _I_ go.”

“How about you stop referring to them as pack, but simply just as … friends. Something more _human_.”

Theo pauses, _interested_ , and continues looping the fabric around his finger, watches the thread leave a white mark on his skin before disappearing just as quick and waits for Morrell to continue.

“Maybe it will help if you try to separate yourself from the supernatural. I know it’s forever a part of you, of _all_ of you, but think of this camping trip as making the most out of it with your friends. Just a group of teenagers hanging-out. No werewolves, no banshees, no chimeras.”

Theo grins, a memory popping in his head. “Does that mean I can’t open a food can with my claw?”

Morrel raises a brow, unimpressed at his lazy attempt for humor, and sighs, “As much as possible.”

“And here I thought I’d be encouraged to love my supernatural side,” Theo drawls, and when he leans back more against the beanbag it squeaks from his weight.

“Everything that you did,” Morrell says, tone careful but gaze firm on Theo that it forces him to stare back and _really_ listen, “is a part of the countless shades that encompass morality. And morality is just a social contract invented by rational beings. Humans.”

When Theo does nothing but blink, Morrell sighs and twists around to reach for the desk behind her, and when she faces back she’s holding up a ruler.

“Good,” she points the end of the ruler, and then the other, “evil. Like a bar meter. The supernatural, in your case, just happens to be a _tool_ , the same way a child grows to be a bully because of abusive parents. And it just so happens that it pushed you—” she slides her index finger over the length of the ruler, stopping at the evil-end “—too close to this side. So what we’re gonna do is to help you go here,” she slides her index finger in the middle of the ruler, “the balance. Or more here,” slides close to the good-end, “because, you know, despite all these shades, this will always be above among else.”

She drops her hands.

“But it didn’t make you any less of a human,” she says. “As horrible as it is, it’s just another shade.”

*

Theo’s session doesn’t take long, because he excuses himself when he feels bile rising in his throat. He’s leaning over the toilet and puking out petals—along with the day’s breakfast; God bless Jenna’s blueberry pancakes—when he hears Liam just outside the cubicle.

“Theo?”

“I’m fine,” Theo says, voice raspy, as he slumps down on the ground and leans his head against the wall, heaving chest slowly coming down to a steady rise-and-fall.

“Can I come in?”

“’S good, I’m coming out in a second,” Theo says, and he indeed does so after taking one last look at the toilet and flushing it out, but it doesn’t stop Liam from cupping his face and giving his cheek a comforting rub with his thumb. Theo grins. “A lot less than last week.”

“Good,” Liam whispers and mirrors Theo’s smile. “Deaton’s here.”

Liam stays by his side while he cleans his mouth—he’s made it a regimen to _always_ carry around a brush and a toothpaste and a mouthwash because his puking episodes are unpredictable, but _especially_ after he learns the amount of times Liam is _needy_ for a kiss, which he can’t exactly do if throwing up is a part of his daily routine; Liam asks for it the second he finishes brushing his teeth—and when they re-enter Morrell’s office, she and Deaton are in the middle of a light conversation, and stop at their arrival.

Morrell tells him their session is cut short, while Deaton hands him an envelope garnered from Melissa for his routinely x-ray appointments to monitor his lungs. Instead of asking, he checks Deaton’s scent for any sort of signal about the gravity of the results, but he ends up figuring Deaton hasn’t opened it. “Ease back today,” Deaton tells him with a pleasant small smile. “We’ll discuss about it tomorrow.”

It’s not until he’s in his truck with a bouncing Liam on the passenger seat that he finally flips the envelope open and pulls out the black-and-white image of his lungs. Liam opens the glove compartment to reach for another envelope—the copy of his recent x-ray—and holds it up right beside the image Theo’s holding. Theo flickers his gaze back and forth between the two images, his mouth falling agape, and it’s Liam who voices out their amusement.

“It’s _a lot_ smaller than the last time!”

Something blooms in Theo’s chest; not the petals or the full-bloom flowers, but a dizzying rush of euphoria as he croaks, “Yeah … yeah it is.”

Liam grins, eyes crinkling, and cups the back of Theo’s head so he can pull him in for a kiss, soft and lingering even as he pulls away to say, “Almost there.”

Theo nods, closing his eyes, forehead against Liam’s, and agrees.

“Almost there,” he says.

 _Almost there_ , he promises.


End file.
